


Gilded

by Feyland



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex, Other, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 15:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feyland/pseuds/Feyland
Summary: Mortify your tool of a father by letting your criminal boyfriend suck you off at a formal function.





	Gilded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sunfreckle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/gifts).

> CW for implied transphobia and homophobia, and references to LGBTQ suicides, alcohol, and explicit sexual content as per the tags.
> 
> This is an expansion of a shorter piece I did for Jehanparnasse Week 2018

It’s not as satisfying, Jehan decided, to end a call when you can’t slam the phone down. The restless energy that came with hot anger had nowhere to go, and Jehan tried to taper it in a long string of curses.

“Who was that?” said Montparnasse, making Jehan jump. They hadn’t heard him turn off the shower or make his way into the bedroom doorway, but his hair dripped onto the floor and he held the towel around his hips loosely as he looked at Jehan with poorly disguised worry.

“My father,” they bit out, and Montparnasse’s eyebrows raised at the harshness in their tone.

“What did that bastard want?”

“A favour. There’s some gala happening for his company, and he’s after a promotion. He wants to show off what a great family man he is to impress the founders. He said as his son, I should be there to support him.” Jehan’s laugh was bitter and devoid of humour.

“I hope you told him to go fuck himself.”

“He tried to bribe me! He said he would put me back in his will if I would lie for a few hours. As if I want the money he stole from the desperate communities when he forced them out of their homes for the sake of ‘developmental progress’. I told him I would rather die, and he said he wouldn’t bother paying for my funeral when I eventually off myself because  _ ‘Isn’t that what you people do?’ _ ”

Montparnasse’s lip had curled and he reached out to take Jehan’s hand, holding it tightly. “I’ll fucking kill him,” he hissed, and he could feel in his chest how much he meant it.

Jehan’s expression softened, and they put their free hand on his cheek in gentle comfort. “He’s not worth the trouble,” they said. “It will be just as satisfying to watch him decay and die alone.”

“I could always just scare him a bit. Give him a heart attack.”

A small wicked smile found its way to Jehan’s lips. “Show up at his party as the heathen queers we are and let him die of embarrassment.”

Montparnasse smirked, leaning down to kiss Jehan. When he pulled back, he could see working its way through their brain.

***

“Jean Prouvaire,” said Jehan to the attendant outside the hotel ballroom. “And my guest.” They smiled demurely as the young man quickly scanned the guest list in front of him.

“Of course, uh, Monsieur?”

“Thank you,” said Jehan, breezing past him without bothering with corrections. The attendant was not their target audience, and anyway, their goal for the night was to shock and confuse. Montparnasse slipped an arm around their waist as they made their way down the three steps onto the wide ballroom floor.

The room was a tired attempt at luxury, concrete pillars painted to look like marble, and the gold-coloured paint on the stair railings and chandeliers was peeling, worn down by time and the touch of guests from countless weddings and corporate functions. Roughly 100 people filled the space, most of them men, and all dressed nearly identically in badly cut plain black suits. Several were paired with middle-aged women who wore variations of the same long, satin dress, none of them saying much as the men around them talked too loudly. They all looked the same to Montparnasse, who was struggling to keep his face cooly neutral, but Jehan seemed to immediately find who they were looking for. They pulled Montparnasse through the crowd towards a ground of five men, each holding a glass of wine.

“Papa,” they called out, loudly, and Montparnasse reaffirmed his grip on their hip as one man turned. He had some of Jehan’s features - a nose shape, a chin - and Montparnasse hated him for appropriating the features he loved so much. He was pale too, and grew even paler as he took in Jehan.

Their hair was loose and mussed, and as fiery as their eyes. The dress they wore was so tight it fit like a second skin. It certainly didn’t require the assistance of the tiny straps, but Jehan had let one fall off their shoulder. The neckline was low, easily displaying the dark hickies littering their neck and chest, disappearing beneath the deep red fabric. The hem barely covered their ass, holding it so tightly there was no mistaking the lack of underwear lines. The men around Jehan’s father gawked at the prominent bulge at the front of the dress.

“Papa, let me introduce you to my  _ lover _ , Montparnasse,” they said, drawing out the words. “Forgive us for being late. We got a bit...distracted in the cab.” As they spoke, they placed a hand on Montparnasse’s chest, subtly moving his collar to display their own handiwork blooming on his skin. They ran the hand down the front of his torso, over the rich brocade of his suit jacket, stopping just at his belt buckle, which they stroked lightly.

Montparnasse’s shiver was not part of the act.

“Ah, M. Rielle, it’s good to see you again!” they continued, ignoring the various shocked looks around them. “I’m so glad you and my father seem to have gotten past that whole unfortunate business with your wife. And you must be M. LaPlante! My father has spoken so highly of the way you’ve avoided so many lawsuits over the years. He says your blackmailing techniques are second to none!”

M. Prouvaire’s face had gone from white to red with rage as his colleagues turned their gaze towards him, a cocktail of fury and fear burning in his eyes.

“You...!” he sputtered at Jehan, but didn’t manage to finish his thought as Jehan began to tug Montparnasse away.

“We’re going to get a drink,” they said. “We’ll talk later.”

They turned and walked away with Montparnasse in tow as voices raised behind them. Along one wall, a massive display of wine bottles weighed down a table, and Montparnasse snagged a particularly expensive one, quickly uncorking it with the knife in his breast pocket. He offered it to Jehan first who took a huge swig.

“Let’s dance,” they said, wild sensuality playing over their features. They held the bottle in one hand, throwing the other over Montparnasse’s shoulder, and let him pull them out. He held them against him, running one hand up and down their back, the other holding firmly onto their ass. They moved their hips in time with the bland music playing out of a bad sound system, turning it into the most beautiful sounds Montparnasse had ever heard. They pressed closer to him, grinding up against him, sending more shivers down his spine as they let out a small sigh, charged with adrenaline and lust. Montparnasse, untethered, kissed it from their lips. Their mouth was hot on his, messy and perfect, and he could feel their shudders matching his own. He pulled back, staring at their face, at the smudged lipstick and the wide pupils.

Every other person in the ballroom was a million miles away. They were alone on an island of their own, churning up the waters around them to repel any unwelcome visitors. Montparnasse was used to having eyes on him, welcomed it, delighted in it. But the gaze of thousands could never compare to the deep brown eyes that held him in the most intimate of embraces, swaying under hypnotic affection. The music seemed to pulse louder around them, but it could have just been the blood in his ears. Jehan looked so beautiful, and so wicked. 

Keeping their eyes locked, Jehan gripped Montparnasse firmer for balance, and slid their knee between his legs, not quite high enough to create the friction Montparnasse suddenly wanted desperately. Still holding the bottle of wine in one hand, Jehan let the other run down the front of Montparnasse’s jacket again before roughly grabbing at his belt, their fingers dancing as hungrily as their mouth. 

“I want you,” they growled, looking so much like a predator that Montparnasse felt the urge to bare his throat to them. 

“Come on,” he breathed. “We don’t want to ruin your dress, do we?” He kissed them hard, the tension in his belly hardening as they tugged on his belt again in response. Releasing them with a shallow gasp, he started to lead them towards the restroom, as unbearable as it was to lose the closeness. 

They stumbled into the restroom, the wine not holding a candle to the intoxication of desire coursing through them. Montparnasse angled them towards a stall, but Jehan pressed back, nodding over his shoulder.

“No - the counter.” 

The row of sinks was the same tired faux gold and marble as the rest of the ballroom, but the chipping paint made the gaudy facade look more opulent and romantic in the dim yellow emulation of candlelight. Jehan set down their wine and pushed a basket of paper towels out of the way, clearing a meter-long stretch of countertop, and turned back to Montparnasse, pulling him close again. 

“Anyone could walk in and see us,” they sighed into his mouth as he took the opportunity to kiss them again. “How do you feel about that?”

“Jealous,” Montparnasse growled, unable to keep the smile off of his lips. “For someone else to see you like this? The thought drives me mad.” His hands were roaming over their body, raising goosebumps on their neck, dragging ragged half-noises from them as he slid them down to their hips. “But that’s a risk I guess I’ll have to take, if I’m going to take you.”

Jehan’s moan was loud, and their gesture was rough as they leaned back against the counter, dragging Montparnasse flush against them. Their kiss was rough and hungry, teeth scraping against his skin, biting down on his already swollen lip. They tilted their hips upwards, pressing into his body, their whole frame shuddering when he matched their intensity. Mirroring what they had done on the dancefloor, Montparnasse smoothly shifted his weight in order to slip his knee between their thighs, baring his teeth in a grin when their breath caught. Their impossibly short dress was riding up, exposing their desperation as they moved their hips, grinding down against Montparnasse’s leg. Catching their thighs in his hands, Montparnasse lifted, shifting them up until they were seated on the counter. Parting their legs further, Montparnasse caught his breath, his mind spinning with the realities of the creature in front of him. 

Leaning up against the mirror, Jehan appeared utterly debauched, their chest rising and falling to match their pounding heartbeat. Their skin glowed in the warm lighting, the evidence of Montparnasse’s mouth on them looking like galaxies on the universe of their skin. With their dress pushed up to their waist, their legs seemed impossibly long, and Montparnasse ran his hands over them, marvelling at the softness. 

“God, you’re unreal,” he breathed, the air in his lungs feeling too hot. Jehan groaned again as Montparnasse’s hands slid up their thighs again, stopping just at the crest of their hips. 

“Please!” they gasped, and Montparnasse complied, taking them in hand savouring the way their back arched as he did. His touch was light, teasing, barely offering skin to skin contact unless Jehan worked for it. A frustrated sound came from the back of their throat, and they threw their arms back, clutching at the mirror image. 

“That’s it,” Montparnasse crooned, managing to keep the shudders out of his own voice as Jehan thrust up into his hand. The other still on their hip, he pressed them back down, fighting against their desperate whines cresting from their throat. Releasing them again resulted in a louder protest, a sound that cut off into a weak gasp as Montparnasse leaned in to take them in his mouth. Closing his lips around them, he moved his head as slow as he could despite his own mounting desire to ruin this gilded place with something of real beauty. 

“Fuck, Montparnasse, please!” Jehan begged, their hips pushing back hard against Montparnasse’s hands. He simply smiled around them, and pulled back again, giving his tongue the space to run lightly over the tip, making them sob with indignant pleasure. 

Maybe he let the teasing lightness of his touch go on too long. Jehan’s hand finally abandoned the mirror in favour of Montparnasse’s hair, a sharp tug pulling Montparnasse’s mouth down further around them, leading both of them to let out thick groans. Jehan’s grip was tight and demanding, and Montparnasse relented to it, picking up the pace of his work. Jehan writhed under the increased pressure, shudders rolling through them in waves. Tears rolled down their cheeks, drawing lined with their dark eye makeup, their whole body pulsing with molten fire. 

“God, you- Oh God- so good, ‘Parnasse, it feels so-” Jehan babbled, their grip in Montparnasse’s hair tightening and loosening and tightening again in time with the movement of his mouth. 

Jehan’s hips jerked roughly, the pace becoming broken and rough. Their words blended into a mounting whine that stuttered with the rest of their body. With a cry that peaked into something inaudible, Jehan bucked up, and spilled into Montparnasse’s mouth. Their breath lost somewhere in the crests of ecstasy, their whole body tight as a bowstring, the ripples of shuddering pleasure rolled from them into Montparnasse from every point of contact. 

Slowly, the tension in their body dispersing, Jehan took a breath and opened their eyes. Montparnasse’s hands were still on their hips, gently stroking the skin there. 

“Fuck,” they said weakly, taking in the wicked, puffy lips smiling at them. “Come here.”

Jehan’s muscles were still rubbery, and so Montparnasse dragged himself up again, bringing one knee up on to their side as he pressed his mouth hard against theirs. Their tongue ran over his lips, inviting him into a filthy kiss, all bumping teeth and cut-off whines. Jehan’s fingers were just as probing, fumbling blindly for Montparnasse’s belt, foregoing any return teasing to draw him out. Their hands were soft, but their grip was firm, moving quick and rough, drinking in the noises Montparnasse was making. 

Neither looked up when the door opened, nor did they break apart when they heard a woman’s voice splutter out  _ Mon Dieu!  _ The door banged shut again, and Jehan’s hand didn’t slow. Dragging their mouth off of Montparnasse’s, they raked at the curve of his ear.

“Does that make you jealous? Or do you just get off on being on display like that?” Jehan squeezed, prompting a gasp from Montparnasse. “Maybe we’ll just have to keep experimenting,” Jehan breathed, the sweetness of their voice mingling with something sharp, “and we’ll see the next time I let you fuck me somewhere public.”

Montparnasse groaned, falling against Jehan’s neck as he shuddered apart in their grasp.

***

They were thrown out, of course. 

Escorted out of the ballroom by a red-faced young security officer, Jehan waved cheerfully to the staring crowd. Their father was nowhere to be seen. 

Outside, the night air cut through the flimsy fabric of their dress, and they shivered until Montparnasse draped his jacket around their shoulders. 

“That was fun,” they said mildly as Montparnasse hailed a cab, his air of authority intact despite the wild disarray of his hair. “I hope we’re invited back next year.” 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Freckle for inspiring the addition and also for being my resident dick expert


End file.
